My head was pounding, and I instinctively winced when I tried to sit up and my head stung in protest. I reached up to touch the spot where the jolts of pain were coming from and froze when I felt my dark hair hard against my skin. I gulped as I recalled the memory of the Hunter hitting my head with a rock. I shuddered as I remembered the sound of the rock connecting with my skull. I should be dead, or at least, with a dent on my skull. But there was nothing but dry blood and a headache to prove that I had been hit unconscious.
My wolf must have healed us. I looked down at my drees and saw the blood that had been dried up now. The textile had a rough gash behind me, and I could see my calf. The skin was smooth and there was no sign of a wound except for the dried-up blood.
Now that I was
